I found myself missing Mr Dear Husband this morning. Not HIM so to speak, but more the little things that he does that make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. (Get yer mind outta de gutter).
It does not always roll this way. Somewhere, deep inside, was a ball of ‘pissed off’ just waiting to explode when he left on this last sojourn. I doubt he was barely on his second cup of in-flight coffee and dry bread roll, before I fired off an email that would make your toenails curl and your nose hair fall out. The gist of the email related to his inability to put away garden instruments after use… therefore, insuring that I can’t find anything when he is not here. The man has an innate sense of self-preservation, and chose NOT to respond to my tirade.
Then this morning, Miss Eight mentioned how much she likes lying in bed, listening to the sound of the shower running… and I got all gooey inside. Because it is Mr Dear Husband that is usually the first up and about, warming up the house, putting on the kettle, and generally making sure that we, of the ‘go-back-to-sleep-for-just-a-minute’, are catapulted into activity.
Over my coffee, I started thinking about what it is that I miss. Here are a few things that sprang to mind:
He always gets up first, giving me an extra 15 minutes to sleep.
When I make it downstairs in the morning, there will be a cup of tea waiting for me – although I threw a spanner in the works recently, suddenly & inexplicably switching to coffee.
If there is a ‘dirty’ job in the house to be completed, he will do it.
Has been known to vacuum the whole house from top to bottom without a murmur
He doesn’t do toilets… ever. That is OK, we established that early on.
I have seen him sit on the floor with Miss Eight and play Barbies… complete with high squeaky voice and all.
For the past 5 years, he has had a secret long-on-going bedtime story rolling for Miss Eight. He makes it up as he goes along – the most I have been able to glean from listening at the door is something about a guy called Mario, and a Pizzeria. They won’t let me in on it.
Whenever he comes back from a business trip, he looks REALLY happy to see me (and the midget too).
Just before this last trip, I suddenly woke in the middle of the night (2am to be precise) and remembered I hadn’t put out the rubbish bin. Mr Dear Husband climbed out of his deep sleep and cosy bed… traipsed downstairs… grabbed the bin… rolled to the curb — then noticed that not a single wheely-bin was to be seen. Seems I had mixed up the days – my bad. He related the story to anyone that would listen the next day, but I think he was secretly trying to tell everyone what a great husband he was for ‘actually getting out of bed.’
Life is never all roses… but sometimes you just have to look in the right place. If you are looking for the secret of longevity in marriage – it is all in the detail.